My bedroom was located upstairs to the right after a couple of steps from the entry. When flicking the light switch, four light bulbs flashed on and sat fixed across from each other, although one of them was always barely lit. The carpet grazed each corner of the room, covering a few centimeters of the flacking stain of the wood that bordered my room. The carpet was tinted a soft french vanilla color, but after years of walking in and out with dirty socks and sweaty feet caused a dark hue to form. The room contained a wide toy chest filled with board games, a glossy coffee table that creaked every time you slightly brushed it, and two twin beds layered with stuffed animals and colorful sheets. The eggshell walls were painted a dark pine green which created the illusion that the room was smaller than it was, or maybe it was just small. This bedroom not only belonged to me, but it also belonged to my sister. 

We had shared this room from the beginning of her life, or at least a year after when my parents bought a lofty black crib that she slept in for hours on end. She used to try to get out of it whenever possible, but her chubby baby legs and arms couldn’t force her weight up and over the rim, so she would end up falling backward. However, climbing was my specialty. I would grasp the wood bars and hoist my foot between them, positioning myself to reach for the top. The problem with this maneuver is that if my hand was a little too sweaty or my grip was off that day, I would fail and take a loud tumble to the floor that would either compel me to cry or cause my parents to scold me. To get speed, I swung my hand and flew it up to the top bar. As I did this, my leg heaved my little body up and I tackled the bar, flipping onto the other side where my sister lay. Sneaking around made me feel more powerful and I continued to do this all the time without my parents ever detecting. 

As we got older and her baby fat turned into longer legs, my sister could no longer fit in her little crib. It was time for an upgrade. We sat down with our mom for a few nights to look over some websites that contained bed frames for children. On night 2 or 3, we came across a bunk bed made with stairs instead of a ladder, and a railing on the top for caution. The bunk bed had a matte finish and a deep brown paint, and if you looked hard enough, you would notice that the bottom bunk was a few inches wider than the top. We took the leap and bought the bed in pieces, so we constructed the massive structure in the middle of the room against the wall. I, of course, got the top bunk. 

Most nights we would go to bed at the same time and fall asleep rather quickly. Our parents would say goodnight and slowly pivot the door shut behind them, leaving a sliver of light shining through the small crack in the door. However, the outside was not the only light. Santa gifted us a turtle night light with stars cut out of the shell where the light dazzled through for Christmas. Every night our room was overwhelmed with colorful stars, maybe green or red or blue. It helped me fall asleep. The feeling of being spontaneously kidnapped overwhelmed my head most nights. I would have my mom show me that she locked all the doors, but sometimes it wasn’t enough. To help, I would remember that my sister was there and I could focus on the stars. 

As we grew older, so did the bed, getting creaker and creaker every time we scrambled up and down the stairs. We began to learn the ways we could use the bed for other things than sleeping. On the wood pieces that barred my twin bed above, we would hang on each until the wood was so bent, that we would quickly drop, scared that the heavy bed frame and mattress would crash down and crush us. I also learned that I liked to peer over my bed framing fence and hang like a bat until my sister noticed me. It usually took a few minutes, probably because she was lost in thought, but I would always hear a “gasp”, and “why do you always do that?!”. She then would ask me to tell her a story. I would tell her about my crazy, fake, stories of meeting her favorite cartoon character or going to the top of Everest by myself. When I stopped, I could hear the rumble of breath blowing in and out her nose, so I would roll over and fall asleep. 

At around age 11, I could no longer take the thought of the bunk bed, or even my sister existing in the same bedroom as me for more than 15 minutes. We removed the bunk bed and all its fun memories from the room and sold it to two little twin girls that live somewhere around the valley. We later went to the mattress store and came across two chunky full beds that had stiff memory foam, but it formed to your body as you lay on it for longer. We waited a few weeks for the mattresses to arrive by sleeping on a deflating blow-up mattress every night. We didn’t show it on the outside, but I think we enjoyed our last nights in the same bed. 

Along with the beds came two black metal bed holders on wheels. Neither of us had bought a bed frame, so we used them accordingly. All of the stuffed animals, barbies, American girl dolls, and play doe we weren’t using, which was basically all of them, were placed in petite plastic bins under the mattress in the shadows where they slowly faded away. We placed my bed in the corner by the closet and hers was in the other corner diagonally opposite from mine. The night light was no longer in use, partly because it was broken, but also because we no longer needed it. The dark of the room that previously scared me was part of the past along with the thought of being kidnapped. I was pretty sure I didn’t even need my sister there anymore. 

Therefore, It was finally time. The chaotic childhood that lived in that room was coming to an end. I was getting my very own room. The whole house was being painted, so the walls of that room would soon become a soft white. All my belongings would be moved out, thrown away, or donated to the local thrift store. I got a new headboard, decorated my room with vintage photos and paintings, updated my wardrobe, and was able to throw all my clothes on the floor without hearing a peep from anyone. I really caught myself up in my individuality and hadn’t thought about it much until recently. Was there a part of me that was going to miss the comfort of another person by my side every night? Throughout the years of earning new toys, and getting rid of old ones I never saw the powerful memories I created with them. I mostly only remember this feeling of strong annoyance that grew over time. I realized that as I have matured and experienced new things, everything becomes more real, and your feelings are more powerful. I now have a lock on my own door, but not that other person to protect me from things that a lock never could. I didn’t really think about how we would probably never live together again. I almost wish I took more advantage of that while I had the time. Life comes with change whether you want it or not, but did I really want it? Did my rebellious phase really affect actions that I can never take back? I wish that some emotions didn’t overpower others, so I could now feel at peace with my decisions.